Canvas
by lessxordinary
Summary: Rosso the Crimson teaches Vincent a few things about himself... And paints the bed red with his blood. 'I am a monster. But you are a coward.' RossoxVincent, Lemon


"You're sick." He spat, his words catching deep within his throat, trying to sound angry, vicious, indignant, despite it all.

"Aren't I, darling?" She just laughed again, laughed. Her rich laughter was the soundtrack to his pain, everything that he was being put through. Her ever ringing laughter was racing through his world, burning him from the inside out, eating him raw.

She raked her talons down his now bare skin, savoring the tears her sharp finger nails cut through his flesh. She dragged her hands down his chest, deliberately slowly, the painful trails of color drawn over every tightened swell and dip of muscle. His abdomen was soon painted a brilliant crimson. She stopped just below his navel, raising her glistening red fingertips to examine them under the light.

"Is it not beautiful? It matches your eyes, does it not?"

She then lifted them to her lips, the blood staining her already ruby lips and seeping into her mouth. Her tongue darted out across her sinful lips, also stained red. His wounds were spilling, crimson rivulets, down his still body, dyeing the white sheets of the bed she pinned him to. Her fingers trailed down the side of her face, leaving drying traces of his blood on her pale skin. The redheaded woman regarded him with an intensity that left him speechless. She moved forward, pushing herself further up his thin body and capturing his lips with hers. Her hands came up to frame his face, holding him close to her.

He wanted desperately to believe, for the sake of his humanity, for the sake of his sanity, that he found nothing appealing about her muscled thighs pressed so tightly around his hips, her full breasts brushing against his bloodstained chest, her foreign and bloodied lips pressed against his. Her taste, sweet but absolutely sinful, as though she were the pure embodiment of all the wickedness he had fought so hard to escape. Her taste, stolen, illicit, hostile, laced with the unnatural tang of blood, his blood, was a toxin. It laced through his body, causing his senses to burn and writhe, his muscles to rebel. But refuse her? He couldn't. Not anymore, not now that she was placed above him, her red eyes scouring a hole right through him, her body irresistible, her lips moving so forcefully against his.

He managed to break the kiss, indignantly pulling his head away from her, tilting it to the side, his pale lips parted from the effort, his black hair falling between the two of them. He kept it turned, as if by tilting his head that way he could avoid facing her, deny her existence, her presence. "Do not ignore me, Vincent Valentine. I vant you to vatch." She purred, her accent stronger through the lust that caught at her. A taloned finger which promised pain tilted his head back to face her, caressing his white jaw, admiring the bravery in his fiery eyes. "Sooch a challenge..." She murmured, to herself, gripping his chin with her right hand.

She trailed her other hand down between them, over her covered breasts and bare abdomen, drawing playful circles over her own skin. She didn't look away from him, but his scarlet eyes were fixated on her glowing, black gloved hand. She smiled, tilting her chin upward haughtily as she moved her hand further down, the curious patterns continuing over her thighs, the gloved hand eventually disappearing into her nether regions. Her hand moving rhythmically, her breath quickened. She continued for a few moments, her half-lidded eyes on the black-haired man beneath her all the while. His own breathing was roughly being controlled, at best. He wetted his lips, unable to truly look away, but still trying to convince himself, 'I don't want this.'

"It is a vaste, is it not?" She drawled, her crimson eyes latched onto his. "Vincent..." She quickly unlatched her armor, the hard plates coming off. No need to castrate him just yet. She slowly lowered over him, her desire pooling like liquid fire between her legs. She wanted him, desperately, the gunman lying prone beneath her. "You von't deny me, Vincent Valentine. You have vanted this since you first fought me." Her hand reached down, roughly rubbing his erect member. The smile on her crimson lips was cruel and taunting. "I vill taint you... and it vill be beautiful."

She stated, laughing, quick motions bringing the man to life. Vincent would not meet her eyes, his head thrown to the side, as though denying her presence would somehow make it worthwhile. She was a creature of defiance and hatred; he could almost pity her, were she not kissing him so desperately, or trailing those dangerous fingers all over his body.

"Are you ready, Vincent Valentine?" She purred, more dominant than he could have imagined. Lucretia, Yuffie, Cid... Any of his lovers, past or present, had usually been the ones to cater to him. His head was reeling as she positioned herself over him.

She was beautiful, he decided, as she moved down onto him, throwing her head back and moaning as he filled her. She was a very... vocal lover. He finally looked at her, now that she was no longer teasing, no longer tormenting. She moved along his length with practiced ease; there was violence in all of her motions. Her pale neck was exposed, now, her red lips parted with a gasp. Her strong body was fierce and demanding, muscled arms and firm legs that gripped him tightly. Her full breasts were soft and welcoming, and Vincent felt the heat running through him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations.

And he tried not to think that he was enjoying it more because she was who she was. That it didn't feel so goddamn good, better than with Lucretia or anyone he'd ever loved, because it was so wrong, because she wanted nothing better than to rip him apart. That he didn't secretly love the nails cutting his skin; that it was just his body reacting to the heat and warmth of a woman's body. But as she bit his neck again, blood streaming over her vicious lips, and he let out a scream; he wondered if it wasn't so.

It was ignored, though, as the warrior rode him into a fierce climax, that made him see white, his whole body burning with the pleasure of it. Her body convulsed around him, and she yelled along with him, her cruel laughter arching through the pleasure.

She took a few calming breaths, kissing him and pulling herself off of him, redressing quickly. "Zank you, Vincent Valentine. It vas fun. Ve should do it again sometime."

"You're awful."

"At least I vill admit I'm a monster. You could learn a zing or two from me. True bravery eez not running from yourself." Rosso laughed, tossing back her crimson hair and really laughed, the noise echoing through the building. "And viz that, Vincent Valentine, I vill leave you. I vill enjoy watching your vorld fall apart. Hail Weiss."

And she left, leaving him lying there on the white sheets, a canvas painted with his own scarlet blood, half-dead, half alive, mind alive with what she had said.

Maybe it took a quick fuck with a psychopathic killer to tell him what he truely was.

But he ignored the thoughts, forcing himself to redress, to escape, to run from the bloodied memory of his sins; all of them painted clearly, and inescapable.

There were some things that even Vincent Valentine could not face.

The monster within him... was one of those things.


End file.
